


Free birds shouldn't be kept in cages

by sjakalen



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, Brotherhood, Character Death, Choking, Crime, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Ethics, Explicit Sexual Content, Inmate!Anthony, Inmate!Chris, Law, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mild S&M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Phan - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Pride, Prison Sex, Psychological Drama, References to Drugs, Slow Build, Smut, Submission, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trauma, Triggers, Violence, ethic drama, guard!Ian, handjobs, inmate!dan, inmate!phil, inmate!pj, power, sub!dan, top!phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjakalen/pseuds/sjakalen
Summary: ''You won't survive on your pride in here,'' The man responds as if he got his plan figured all out, sees right through the tough facade Dan trusts to keep him safe in here. His voice is deep, a smooth sound laced with heavy excitement that makes Dan's blood boil. He closes the gap between them, standing barely an inch taller. He reaches out, grabs the small identification card attached to the man's shirt.''What will I survive on then, Lester?'' He asks, the name tasting foreign and bitter in his mouth. Lester doesn't flinch, doesn't front, doesn't do anything. He just smiles as if he can predict the future, as if Dan's fate is a book he has already read and knows the ending to.//Prison AU where Dan doesn't know the rules of the game, and Phil is there to teach him.





	1. Pride

**Author's Note:**

> 'Free birds shouldn't be kept in cages' is a slow build, sinister and explicit fic containing a lot of heavy, dark themes. Due to my sloppy research of the british lawsystem and prison in general, the factual accuracy of this fic is to be taken with a grain of salt. If anything is too incorrect, feel free to let me know; the same goes with any grammatical errors, which will definitely occur as my first language isn't English. Despite this I truly hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Comments, criticism and kudos will be much appreciated.
> 
> x
> 
> Sjakalen

_''What the hell is this?'' Dad asks with a raised voice while looking through the monthly bills, eyes narrowed. Mom looks up from the ironing board in front of her. Dad is as usual seated in his armchair by the old television, resting his tired legs on the footstool, his cane by his side. Phil and Martyn are sitting beside him on the grey carpet, eyes fixated on the cartoon playing in the television. Phil keeps quiet. Martyn has taught him to._

_Mom places the iron back on the ironing board and takes place beside Dad, who points at something on the paper with a stiff finger. She bends down to get a closer look, takes a step back as she finds out what he's referring to. ''The oven broke,'' She explains with a weak voice, folding her hands in front of her. ''I had our landlord come fix it.'' Dad grabs the remote, turns off the TV._

_''Hands on the wall.'' Mom doesn't cry as she obeys, she never does. Phil clenches his small fists and looks to his big brother. They both know what comes next. Dad arises from his chair, grabbing his cane. Martyn covers Phil's eyes with a hand, but he can still hear the well known sound of wood against flesh, the screams of pain that follows._

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

''Howell,'' A female guard commands Dan to step out from the line of newly arrived inmates, voice monotone and eyes fixated on the clipboard in her hands. She hands Dan a small paperclip and an identification card as he approaches her with stiff steps, signals for him to tag along with a quick, impatient hand gesture. Dan attaches the card to the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and follows her hasty steps. The obnoxious colour makes him stick out among the grey sweatshirts, white tank tops and jogging pants adorning the other inmates, signals his status as a newcomer, a newborn to the hierarchy behind bars.

''Breakfast starts at six, lunch at one, dinner at five,'' The guard informs him as she leads him past the dining hall and activity rooms, quiet criminals staring him down, calculating his every move. There's no hoard of dehumanized animals awaiting him, no wordstream of profanities and dirty promises flowing his way; just an agonizing, straining silence, making his ears ring and blood boil. A lot of them are covered in tattoos, steroid muscles prominent through their shirts. Dan has neither, got nothing but his pride. ''Work hours are between breakfast and lunch, phone and shower hours between lunch and dinner.''

Dan walks with his chin raised, face stripped from every emotion. He won't show them any sign of weakness. ''Got it,'' He responds and fixates his eyes on the prison's concrete walls, painted in a mocking pattern of blue and white, symbolizing qualities none of the men within these walls posses; hope and innocence. The entire interior seems cynical and impersonal, every single furniture Dan passes is made of steel and bolted to the floor beneath his white canvas shoes.

The guard guides him up a staircase leading him to an elongated corridor filled with claustrophobic cells, only segregated by metal bars. When he'd awaited his trial back at county he'd been isolated twenty three hours a day, but at least his concrete cell had provided him with an illusion of privacy and space. ''We lock down at nine, all lights are out at ten.'' The guard stops in front of a cell and scribbles something on her clipboard with the pen in her hand. The cell contains two steel beds bolted to the floor, two small steel cabinets mounted on each side of the wall, a small window in the middle and a steel toilet underneath it. No sink. ''Your cellmate is inmate Liguori, he'll fill you in on the rest.''

Liguori, a young man Dan guesses to be around the same age as himself, looks up from the book in his hand at the mention of his name, offering Dan a short nod out of courtesy. Despite the friendly gesture the man's hooded eyes are cautious and calculating, defined jaw locked in a tense frown, distrust engraved in stern facial features. Dan returns the nod and enters the cell, wondering how long it will be before that look adorns his own face.

''I don't get any toiletries?'' He asks the guard as he sits down on his bed, the thin mattress reminding him of a piece of cardboard. The question makes both the guard's eye and Liguori's lip twitch, one in annoyance and the other in amusement.

''This is a category B prison, inmate,'' The guard barks, finally looking up from the clipboard. Dan knows his existence has been reduced to nothing but a waste of air by the glare he receives. ''Not a goddamn hotel.'' The guard slams the cell door shut and storms away.

Liguori leans forward, watching her leave through the bars and only arising from his bed once she's completely out of frame. He grabs a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste from his cabinet, throws it to Dan.

''Thanks,'' Dan mutters as he catches the items, placing them beside him. He leans back against the bars, sighs as he tiredly rubs his face. The inmates at county all claimed prison would be better, some even adding additional charges to their sentences just to get transferred, but so far Dan can only doubt the truth of those statements. County is for the criminals who still have a chance of making it on the outside, prison is for the criminals who are no longer wanted on the outside.

''I'm not your friend, newbie,'' Liguori responds as he closes his cabinet, combing a hand through a mop of curly hair. Dan nods slowly in understandment, pushing his pride aside and respecting the yet undefined rules. ''But we were all new here once.''

''Yard time?''

''A privilege, not a right.'' Liguori takes place in front of the toilet, pushes his jogging pants a bit down and proceeds to take a piss. ''Hell, even the fucking air we breathe in here is a privilege according to those pigs.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

During breakfast the following morning Dan chooses to take seat at an empty table, defying the hierarchy among the rest of the inmates. The majority of them are visibly divided into groups, the leaders seated in the middle of the steel tables, their followers scattered around them. Apart from the tattoos, bland clothing and concrete surrounding them, the scenario truly looks like something taken out of an old renaissance painting. Dan doesn't want to take any part in it, his pride won't let him.

The movies all got one part right in their portrayals of prison; the food absolutely sucks, and Dan refuses to believe it was ever made for human consumption. He struggles to identify the grey sludge in the tray in front of him, but guesses it's supposed to resemble oatmeal. Before he gets to taste it the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears, and as he looks up a group is making their way towards him, steps laced with confidence and chests puffed up in a silly display of domination. Dan straightens his back, relaxes his shoulders and raises an eyebrow their way.

''Me and my crew would like to welcome you,'' Their leader starts out, his parade of dancing monkeys forming a half circle around him. Dan's cellie is there too, keeping his gaze down as Dan tries to catch his eyes. Their leader stands in the middle, arms crossed as he pins Dan down with his hazel eyes. He's older, a few years, with a square jaw and straight hair that haven't been cut in a while. ''Maybe we can help each other out while we're here,'' He says and moves closer to Dan, arms crossed over his chest. Dan can feel the rest of the inmates looking at them, eyes glued to the scenario as if it's an episode of a tv series. The guards near the two exits in each side of the dining hall are watching too, making sure all their tamed animals don't cross any boundaries. ''Make our stays a bit more pleasant.''

''I don't think so,'' Dan responds, the rejection finally making Liguori raise his eyes from the ground, offering Dan a gesture so subtle he almost misses it; a brief, sharp shake of his head. Dan squints his eyes at him, his fingers clenching around the plastic spoon in his hand, a vague fire of anger burning within him. Dan doesn't need help, doesn't need whatever protection both Liguori and the man in front of him seem to offer. He walks alone. He walks with pride.

''Careful,'' The man exclaims as he slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the food tray clatter and tremble, specks of oatmeal escaping from it, landing on the steel surface instead. Dan takes a deep breath through his nose, calmly places his spoon in the tray. The leader bends down to meet him, points toward someone observing them from a distance. ''I'm not the only one who got my eyes on you.''

''Get your ass back in your seat or that's a shot, Kendall,'' A guard barks, but the leader, Kendall, stands still. Dan follows his finger's direction, is immediately captivated by a pair of wide, unsettling eyes a few tables ahead, bluer than the painted walls behind them and greyer than the concrete floor beneath them. They're like windows; the owner can look out but Dan can't look in.

''I only ask nicely once,'' Kendall continues the conversation against the shell of Dan's ear, but that's not what sends shivers down his spine. The face of the wide eyed stranger is graced by a touch of youth, childishness even, the only thing giving away that he's years older than Dan being the soft wrinkles in his porcelain skin, appearing near the corners of his mouth and eyes as he straight up laughs at the display before him.

''Last warning, inmate!'' The guard barks once more. Kendall stands up straight again, not yet leaving, both him and the observing stranger awaiting Dan's answer. The stranger rocks gently from side to side, bites down on plump lips and burrows thin, long fingers in black hair in excitement. He looks absolutely mad. Dan can handle mad. Dan can handle Kendall. Dan can handle every fucking thing as long as he got his pride.

''I only decline nicely once, too.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

''How's home?'' Dan asks as soon as Adrian picks up on the other end, his voice a frail whisper despite the hallway being completely silent, empty. A fight had broken out in the yard a few minutes earlier, and Dan had seen an opportunity to finally make the call. Violence has never really entertained him anyway.

The phone in his hand is old, connected to an orange box mounted on the concrete wall through a curly wire. Calls in prison are expensive, each call charging the receiver around two pounds a minute, which is money Dan is very aware Adrian doesn't have, not anymore. He'll keep it short. He just needs to hear his brother's voice, just needs to know that life goes on outside the prison even if it feels as if the earth has stopped rotating inside it.

''Shitty,'' Adrian responds after a few quiet moments, Dan guessing he too is at loss for words. They haven't talked since Dan was first incarcerated, not even at Dan's trial. It's not that Dan hadn't had the opportunity to call at county, he just hadn't known what to say before now. He knows Adrian feels guilty and responsible for what happened, but not more than he does himself. Dan doesn't regret his crimes as much as he regrets the costs of not getting away with them. ''How's prison?'' He sounds tired, yet the languid voice still bears a touch of the cheekiness that used to characterize Dan's little brother.

''Pretty shitty, too.'' Dan relaxes his shoulders as the conversation goes on, slowly easing into comfortable familiarity. He wonders where Adrian is staying, how he manages to get by. There's so many questions he wants to ask, but also so many answers he's not ready to receive. He rests his free arm against the wall in front of him, looks down at the floor, mahogany orbs fixated on a speck of dirt on his white canvas shoes.

''You'll survive,'' Adrian promises, voice laced with a fierce certainty despite the layer of dullness wrapped around his vocal chords. The words result in an ugly grimace spreading across Dan's facial features, making his eyebrows knit together and the corners of his mouth tug downwards. He's tired of merely surviving; it's the bare minimum of life, a weak, shameful state of living reserved for society's fuckups, the bottom of the food chain.

''What about you?'' Dan truly couldn't care less about his own well being. It doesn't matter if he'll spend the rest of his days locked up, rotting away in his prison cell. Nothing matters as long as Adrian is okay. Nothing ever has.

''I'll survive, too.'' Adrian's certainty isn't so fierce anymore, but Dan is still grateful for the lie.

''Good.'' The sound of lazy footsteps in the distance makes Dan resume his prideful posture, body standing tall within seconds, the vulnerability that had previously adorned his face quickly turning to stone. ''I'll call again soon, okay?'' He promises, the air heavy with words that'll never be spoken. They don't need to say it, never really have. They just know.

''Yeah, yeah,'' Adrian responds, the sound of shoe soles scraping against concrete floor becoming louder, approaching. Dan turns his head as the steps comes to a screeching halt a few feet from him, and is immediately met with the same mixture of grey and blue from the dining hall a few days ago. The man just stands there, staring at Dan with wide eyes while fiddling with the hem on his sweatshirt. ''Take care, don't drop the soap,'' Adrian bids his farewell on the other end. Nothing about the man's demeanor reeks of danger, yet Dan still feels intimidated and cautious underneath his unnerving gaze.

''Little shit,'' Dan responds even though Adrian has already ended the call. He places the phone back on its stand and then turns to face the stranger, who looks as if he has something he wants to say. ''Got a problem?'' Dan asks, taking a step towards him, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. The question seems to entertain the man, a tight smile claiming his lips in seconds, revealing a row of white teeth. He's skinny, but Dan can still sense the patches of firm muscle beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He takes another step forward. There's only a feet between them now.

''You won't survive on your pride in here,'' The man responds as if he got his plan figured all out, sees right through the tough facade Dan trusts to keep him safe in here. His voice is deep, a smooth sound laced with heavy excitement that makes Dan's blood boil. He closes the gap between them, standing barely an inch taller. He reaches out, grabs the small identification card attached to the man's shirt.

''What will I survive on then, Lester?'' He asks, the name tasting foreign and bitter in his mouth. Lester doesn't flinch, doesn't front, doesn't do anything. He just smiles as if he can predict the future, as if Dan's fate is a book he has already read and knows the ending to.

''Submission.'' The word drips off Lester's tongue like venom, but he speaks as if it's the antidote. Behind the madness in his glossy eyes there's a primal emotion; hunger, need, desire. Dan feels sick.

''I'd rather die.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

The day Dan finally gets to discard of the obnoxious orange jumpsuit is the same day he gets assigned to work in laundry. The laundry room is in the prison's basement, a cramped and damp room without any windows, the only source of light being a small lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The small room is filled with the soft humming of the washing machines and dryers, filling in the silence between Dan and his work partner. They're standing at a steel table, folding the grey jogging pants and sweatshirts, stacking them according to size. The job pays barely a pound a day, but Dan is still grateful for the solitude and comfortable atmosphere. Down here he's not a prey.

''It's pretty nice, isn't it?'' The man on the other side of the table asks, offering Dan a friendly smile as he looks up from a pair of pants. He's fit, a bit shorter than Dan, smooth skin baring traces of a tan that refuses to disappear despite being deprived of sunlight, eyes warm and brown. ''Keeps your mind busy.'' Dan nods slowly, agreeing. It reminds him of home somehow. ''I'm Padilla,'' The man introduces himself and reaches his hand across the table.

''Howell.'' Dan takes the hand, shakes it and reminds himself he's not in prison to make friends. Him and Adrian used to do the laundry every third day together. When they were younger Dan would take the warm towels from the dryer, cover Adrian's tiny, thin frame in them while he folded their clothes himself. It's the weirdest, smallest things he misses in here.

''First time?'' Padilla asks and Dan wonders what gives him away; the heavy bags underneath his eyes or the permanent lines of worry between his eyebrows. He'd gotten a glimpse of his reflection in the cell window this morning, and could barely recognize the person staring back; curly, untamed hair and a five o'clock shadow had never been part of his appearance before now. ''What are you down for?''

''Are you asking me what I did, or what I'm convicted of?'' Dan responds, earning a humoured chuckle from Padilla, proving he too knows the law system doesn't care about intentions, merely evidence; that is if you're too poor to afford an actual lawyer, and is stuck with a public defender like Dan was. The court didn't care that Dan was trying to save Adrian. The court cared that Dan had shot a guy and left him paralyzed from the waist down. ''Armed robbery, twelve years.''

''Parole?''

''In eight.'' He'd accepted a deal, plead guilty to one count of armed robbery, and in exchange they'd looked past around five counts of burglary alongside the possession of an illegal firearm. Twelve years is a long time, but some might consider him lucky. It doesn't matter now. Whoever said time is money couldn't have been more wrong. ''You?''

''I've done three so far, got one left,'' Padilla informs, face briefly lightening up with joy at the mention of how little time he got left. ''Got caught with a couple of grams on me.'' The guy seems like a ray of sunshine, and Dan can't even bring himself to feel jealous. Maybe he can befriend a single person in prison, just one. ''Wrong place, wrong time.''

''I can relate to that.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

_''Boys,'' Dad warns during dinner, nodding towards the brothers' plates from behind the newspaper in his hands. They're all seated at the big dining table, just like a normal family would be. There's a big portrait of the Lesters hanging on the wall behind Dad, his hunting riffle mounted on the space above it. The plates are nearly empty, just a few pieces of steamed broccoli left on each of them. Phil hates steamed broccoli. ''Eat up, your mother spent a lot of time cooking this.''_

_''They're not hungry,'' Mom excuses them. Dad looks up from the newspaper with narrowed eyes. He calmly folds it in his lap and places it beside his own plate, then grabs Mom by her hair and bangs her head repeatedly against the surface of the table. The boys both shovel down the remaining broccoli, Dad only releasing Mom once both plates are completely empty._

_''They don't pay for the food in this house,'' He says and picks up his newspaper again, chuckling a bit at a comic strip. Mom thuds to the floor, covering her bleeding face in her arms. Martyn grabs Phil's small hand underneath the table, clenches it reassuringly._

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

The nights are the worst. Dan always lies awake, tossing, turning, mind a battlefield for aggressive, undefeatable thoughts. He thinks about a lot of things; how Adrian is doing, what cell Padilla is in, when Kendall is going to approach him again. He tries to keep Lester out of his mind, but his unsettling, grinning face always appears as he's finally about to fall asleep, immediately stirring him into full consciousness again.

''Liguori?'' He asks one night after giving up on getting any sleep, instead staring at what the cell's tiny window allows him to see of the night sky. There's a bunch of twinkling stars adorning the blackness tonight, making the darkness seem less empty.

''Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Howell,'' Comes the respond a few delayed moments later, Liguori's voice rough with sleep and hostility. The man pulls his blanket over his head and turns his back to Dan, trying to end the conversation. He can't blame him.

''I can't.'' Silence dwells upon them for a few moments, and Dan briefly thinks his cellie has fallen asleep again. Liguori groans defeatedly, the bed creaking as he sits up, something humane behind the tough facade awakening. He tiredly rubs the palms of his hands against his face, yawning.

''Look, man,'' He starts out and rests his back against the steel bars. Dan finds his hooded eyes through the darkness, the stern look engraved in Liguori's facial features softening a bit. ''Prison sucks, but you'll be fine.''

''Thanks,'' Dan says even though it isn't himself he's worried about, and for a brief moment he thinks he sees a glimpse of a smile dancing across his cellie's lips. Maybe Liguori's not so bad after all.

''I'm not your friend,'' He reminds Dan as he lays down on the thin mattress again, turning his back and leaving him to ponder his thoughts alone. Silence dwells once again upon the suffocating cell, a serenade of muffled screams of submission somewhere further down the corridor eventually lulling him to sleep.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''Wanna sit at our table?'' Kendall whispers against Dan's ear while they're standing in line for dinner, the exhales of air against his skin making the bile in his stomach rise, the small appetite he had for the prison's poor excuse for food immediately lost. ''Final offer.''

''No thanks,'' Dan responds flatly, directing his rejection to both the man behind him and Lester's eyes imprisoning him from across the room. The inmate behind the kitchen counter slides him a food tray. Dan seats himself at his usual table, alone and prideful.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

The last friday of each month the inmates are allowed to watch a movie in the activity rooms, cramped together on a row of steel chairs in front of an old tv. It's Dan's first movie and he has almost survived a month in prison. He's trying not to keep count, knowing he'll have to endure a minimum of ninety five more, a hundred and forty three at max. Tonight they're watching a documentary about predators in the savannah, which has been carefully picked out by inmate Lester.  
''You've got an admirer,'' Padilla whispers in Dan's ear while shoveling down a handful of stale gummy bears from the commissary. Dan doesn't need to turn his head to know who it is, can feel the lunatic's eyes resting on him, his skin burning where they linger, observing his every move. In the TV a lion is doing the exact same thing, hiding among some yellow grass, waiting for a nearby, unsuspecting gazelle to pass him by.

''Crazy eyes over there is the least of my problems,'' Dan responds and leans back against his chair, the words raising doubt behind the secure facade. There's a reason Dan haven't been jumped yet, put in his place and stripped of his pride. He suspects it has something to do with Lester, always watching from afar as if his gaze is some kind of forcefield. He's not proud to admit he seeks out those wide eyes from time to time.

''I wouldn't be so sure about that.'' Padilla looks to the unopened bag of liquorice resting in Dan's lap. He shoves it towards him with a roll of his eyes, Padilla throwing his fist up in victory as he rips open the seal. Dan would smile if he didn't feel so cautious. There's a burning curiosity flickering inside him, a desperation to get under Lester's skin now that the man is under his own. The gazelle in the TV is moving closer. The lion prepares to attack.

''Why?'' He asks, immediately biting his tongue in regret. He's not sure his pride will save him once he knows what Lester is capable of, what lengths the man will go to. The gazelle is standing right in front of the lion now, merely seconds away from becoming prey.

''Kendall might be a hardcore criminal, but he isn't convicted of two counts of first degree murder.'' The lion springs from its hiding place with a mighty roar, burrowing its sharp teeth in the gazelle's neck, tumbling it to the ground. The gazelle fights for a brief moment, quickly giving up as the blood starts to flow, succumbing to the predator. In the corner of his eyes he sees Lester rocking aggressively from side to side in his chair, unable to contain his madness and excitement, a tight smile dominating his lips. His eyes aren't even on the TV.

''Really?''

''I think he's been down thirteen so far,'' Padilla informs, stuffing a few pieces of liquorice into his mouth. A guard who's been keeping track of the inmates moves from the room's door frame, turns the TV off as the credits starts to roll. ''Spent four years in psych before that.'' All the inmates arise from their chair, making their way towards the exit. Kendall slides a firm hand across Dan's neck as he passes him, and Dan can't help but think the most dangerous predators doesn't approach their prey, they wait for them to come on their own.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

''Dropped the soap yet?'' Adrian asks as soon as he picks up on the other end. It's one of his good days, Dan can hear that by the hidden snicker lingering in his dull voice. He can imagine how the cheeky brat is smirking weakly on the other end, and can't help but smile a little himself. There's no fight in the yard this time, inmates standing impatiently in line to use the phones. He'll have to make it quick.

''Little shit,'' He responds even though Adrian hasn't been a little boy for a couple of years now, twenty years old. He'll always remain the little brother Dan had to keep close during thunderstorms, the one he'd sacrificed his childhood for so he could have one himself. Their parents had crashed in their old Toyota when Dan was sixteen. Adrian must have been ten. ''How are you?''

''I'll be fine,'' Adrian yawns, the brief moments of silence allowing the beeping of a heart monitor to inform Dan where he's staying. Adrian being in the hospital means he has a roof over his head and food on the table. It also means he's reached a point where he's no longer able to take care of himself. Dan chooses to look on the bright side of things. He has to.

''Good.'' He'd found the marks when Adrian was thirteen, specks of blue and purple scattered down his spine. He hadn't taken him to the doctor until the reoccurring nosebleeds started. Maybe things had been different if he had. ''Visitations are on Tuesdays, you coming?''

''I'll try, yeah?'' Adrian offers, a female in the background muttering something inaudible to him. Dan hopes the nurses takes good care of him. ''Next week, maybe.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

The prison's shower room is like the laundry room a small, cramped and damp room without any windows, but instead of a single lightbulb actual lamps are mounted to the ceiling. It's the only part of the prison Dan has been in so far that isn't completely made of concrete, the floor beneath his naked feet instead made of linoleum tiles. He guesses they've been white at some point in time, but either the shady lightning or years of filth and dirt makes them appear yellow.

In one side of the room the faucets are lined up, rusty pipes staining the concrete wall with specks of brown and red. In the other is a bench where the inmates can place their towels and clothes. There's currently one set of each folded neatly on it, but Dan can hear the rustling sound of someone discarding of their clothes behind him. Showers in prison aren't safe. There's no guards placed at each side of the exit, keeping a close eye on their caged animals, making sure they remain tamed. He feels the heavy gaze find rest on him, lingering on his naked form; that exact animal isn't tamed.

''Kendall wants you,'' Lester announces and turns on the faucet next to Dan, combing a hand through his black hair as the luke warm water wets it, slicking his fringe back. Dan turns his face towards him, takes in his form. Lester's skinny, but Dan can see the subtle outlines of muscle engraved in his pale skin. There's scars, long and thick across his back, the skin raised and bearing a purple tint. Where Dan's body is yet smooth with youth Lester's isn't, a thin trail of dark hair leading from his groin to his navel, starting again at his chest.

''I didn't know,'' He responds, eyes finding rest at Lester's face, voice coated in a layer of heavy sarcasm. The man lets out a short chuckle, a soft sound that makes Dan's blood boil and sends shivers down his spine. Lester does a weird thing where he rolls his tongue and bites down on it with his front teeth, a gesture Dan would consider adorable hadn't it been executed by the lunatic. ''Jealous?''

''Yes,'' Lester admits shamelessly, eyes never leaving Dan's. Sharing eye contact with him is like staring at the sun for too long. They're too bright, making him feel dizzy, and Dan thinks they might burn through him if he continues. ''Do you fear him?'' The man asks with a tilted head, curiosity and amusement gracing his deep voice.

''No.'' Dan doesn't fear anyone, his pride won't let him, so when Lester in a single step is standing in front of him, trapping him against the wet wall by placing a hand on each side of his face, he simply stands tall, chin raised. ''Fear is a choice.'' They're close, Dan can feel Lester's calm heartbeat where their chests are touching, his own heart beating fast with adrenaline.

''What else is a choice?'' Lester asks, leaning closer, hot exhales of air landing on Dan's plump lips. He turns his head, studies the hand trapping him to his left, constantly clenching and unclenching, desperate to touch. Lester turns Dan's face towards him again by grabbing his chin with his other hand, demanding and awaiting an answer.

''Pride,'' Dan responds, eyebrows furrowing as Lester releases his chin. The answer makes that unsettling, tight smile reappear on Lester's lips. Dan can't decide if it's in mockery or amusement. A combination of both, maybe. He looks like a kid on Christmas Eve.

''Submission, too.'' He begins caressing Dan's cheek with rough fingertips instead, his touches too soft and gentle to come from such bloody hands; Lester is petting him. Dan takes a deep breath, the words making every cell in his body burn with anger. He reaches behind him, turns off the faucet and pushes Lester's hand out of the way. Lester takes a step back, releasing him.

''That's not an option.'' Dan says, making his way to the bench, grabbing his towel. It's not entirely true, he knows that; whatever game Lester, Kendall and him has been playing is about to come to an end. There's only two possible outcomes. Either Dan unwillingly becomes a prisoner or he willingly imprisons his pride.

''Pride can be taken,'' Lester reminds him as he gets dressed, taking place underneath the spray of luke warm water again. ''Submission can't.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

''Howell!'' Liguori yells from behind Dan, making him stop in his tracks. He's standing in the hallway between the dining hall and yard. Lunch starts in half an hour, but he finished his work shift in laundry early today. Liguori must have too. The man jogs till he reaches him, places a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture that's unfamiliar and doesn't usually characterize his cellie. ''Yard time?''

''Maybe later,'' Dan responds and feels Liguori's hand twitch through the fabric of his sweatshirt, catches the way his lips raises in a frustrated snarl for just a single second. He tries to catch the man's hooded, wandering eyes, narrows his own as he fails. They start walking again, their steps echoing off the walls in the empty hallway. It's just the two of them. The other inmates are still working.

''Come on, let's shoot some hoops,'' Liguori continues, voice coated in a thick layer of desperation. He practically jumps in front of Dan as they reach the entrance to the dining hall, blocking it and prohibiting Dan from entering. Dan crosses his arms over his chests, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. ''It'll be fun, yeah?'' The amount of conversations they've had so far can be counted on one hand and definitely haven't been about basketball. Something is up.

''Fine.'' The words seem to ease Liguori, who lets out a relieved breath of air Dan didn't know the man had been holding in. Liguori moves from the entrance, guides Dan further down the hallway by placing a hand on his shoulder once again. There's a tiny voice inside Dan's head screaming for him to get away, but the mighty roar of his pride drowns it out. He pushes open the door to the empty yard, enters the small area secured by a barbed wire fence. There isn't even a basketball court, just a few weight benches and other work out equipment. ''We're not here to play basketball, are we?''

''No, you're not,'' A voice states from behind him. Dan turns his head and is met with Kendall's hazel eyes, his hoard of puffed up gorillas standing behind him, arms crossed over their chests as they keep watch by the door. Kendall pats Liguori on the back, but Dan's cellie doesn't look proud. There's still twenty minutes to lunch, the other inmates and guards wont be nowhere near the yard for at least a quarter.

''I'm sorry,'' Liguori says as Kendall retreats his hand, makes his way towards Dan. The apology is sincere, he can hear that. ''Survival and loyalty doesn't walk hand in hand in here.''

''Had to happen eventually, I guess.'' Kendall cracks his knuckles. ''You're not my friend,'' He says, mimicking Liguori's catchphrase. The man looks genuinely remorseful, shameful even, can't even meet Dan's eyes as Kendall's followers approach him. He doesn't fight back when they grab his arms, twisting them behind his back, offering him to their leader. Dan stands tall, chin raised.

''Sorry,'' Liguori repeats, turning his back to him as Dan receives a knee to his torso. He involuntarily bends over in pain, bites his lips to prevent any sound from escaping. A guy behind him hauls him back up by his hair, and Kendall repeats the process. He hears the ribs crack before he feels it, isn't allowed any time to react before his face is repeatedly met with Kendall's fist. His left eyebrow and lower lips splits, blood oozing down Dan's face, coating his sweatshirt and dripping onto the concrete beneath him.

Kendall takes a pause to wipe his bloody fist against his jogging pants, then motions for the gorillas to release Dan, who drops to the ground. He spits out some blood, wipes his sleeve across his face then looks up at Kendall.

''Still got your pride?'' Kendall asks with a cocky smirk, and Dan can't help but let out a deep laugh. The voice sounds deranged to his own ears, a crazy, cackling sound that makes the man in front of him frown and swing his white canvas shoe into Dan's stomach. He falls over on his back, lies on the ground while clutching his stomach.

''It's going to take a lot more than that,'' He manages to croak out between the laughs. He doesn't know what's so funny, maybe it's just the irony of it all. Kendall makes a swift hand gesture, making his followers repeatedly slam their shoes into his sides. Before Dan loses conciousness he looks up into the sky above him, a beautiful mixture of grey and blue, remembering Lester's words.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

_''What are you doing?'' Martyn asks, observing Phil chasing the small sparrow that always flies around in their backyard with a piece of bread. Phil huffs as the bird takes shelter in their apple tree, looking down at the brothers from a safe distance._

_''I'm trying to feed the bird,'' He exclaims excitedly, jumping up and down in front of the tall tree, waving the bread at the bird who turns it head, uninterested. Martyn sighs and grabs the bread, sits down on the grass and pats the space next to him._

_''You have to make it come on its own.'' Martyn plucks the bread into tiny pieces, then throws some of it in front of him. Phil sits down and watches in awe as the bird flies down from the tree, plucking at the bread on the ground with its beak. Martyn then places the remaining pieces in Phil's hand, slowly guides it toward the bird._

_''Do you think we can get one?'' Phil whispers quietly, careful not to scare away the bird now eating directly from his hand._

_''Dad would never allow it,'' He responds, earning a frown from Phil. He pats his brother lovingly on the back, following the bird with his eyes as it flies away after finishing its meal. ''And free birds shouldn't be kept in cages.''_

 


	2. Submission

_''Do you have any idea how much this cost?'' Dad asks in his calm voice, the one he uses when he's everything but. They're crowded in front of the broken vase, scattered in pieces across the grey carpet. They had been playing tag. It had been an accident. ''Which one of you did it?'' He continues, tightening his grip around the cane._

_''I did,'' Martyn lies before Phil even gets the chance to open his mouth, taking the blame and the punishment. Phil looks to his older brother, tries to catch his gaze but to no avail. He had barely brushed it. Dad doesn't care for accidents._

_''She should have taken you bastards with her.'' Mom had left a few weeks ago. She hadn't even said goodbye. ''Hands on the wall.'' Martyn obeys, placing his palms flat against the wall, looking down. Dad lifts the cane. There's no one to shelter Phil's eyes this time._

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Dan doesn't know how long he spends at the prison's infirmary, slipping in and out of conciousness; hours, days, maybe even weeks. The morphine makes the pain feel like velvet, makes his hazy mind question if the assault ever even happened. During brief moments of clarity he's made aware that it did, the gauze and stitches proving so. He has three broken ribs, two black eyes, one split lip and zero pride.

Another thing that proves the assault did in fact happen is the day Dan awakes from his morphine slumber to find Kendall in the bed next to him. He almost doesn't recognize the man at first, his face beaten to a bloody pulp, swollen in a mixture of blue and purple. He's awake, Dan can see that, yet he looks anything but alive.

''What happened to you?'' Dan asks, leaning a bit forward in his bed, trying to get a closer look at Kendall's injuries. He feels the satisfaction bloom inside of him, either the excitement or the opiates making his skin tingle and his cells burn. Kendall slowly turns his face, one eye socket incredibly swollen but the other nearly inflated. The eyeball is missing.

''Retaliation,'' The man barely manages to croak out, revealing a set of toothless, bloody gums. Dan can't help but let out a deep snort at the irony of it all, thinking of the old saying; 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'. He doesn't feel guilty about his joyful emotions. Kendall took his pride. Kendall took everything.

''Who did this?'' He asks, leaning back in his bed again, burrowing his teeth in his lower lip as he waits for the name to leave Kendall's mouth, for the shivers to run down his own spine. He knows it already. He just needs to hear it.

''Lester.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Dan is released back into general population during lunch the following week, walks from the infirmary to the dining hall with his chin lowered and eyes fixated on the concrete floor. The inmates he passes on the way all stare at him, but no longer with calculating and cautious eyes; he's accepted his defeat, is now part of the hierarchy he doesn't yet know his rank in. Lester sits alone at his usual table, but instead of a single food tray in front of him there's two. He's been awaiting him.

''I thought you'd rather die?'' Lester asks as Dan takes place beside him, the tight, amused smile reappearing on his lips as Dan furrows his eyebrows in pain, a small wince escaping him. He's not healed yet. Lester slides one of the food trays to him, long fingers twitching, desperate to reach out and touch. Dan doesn't pull away when he does, rough fingertips tracing the dark bruises on his face; not because he doesn't want to, but because he's no longer in position to.

''I almost did,'' He responds, studying Lester's hand as the man places it firmly on Dan's thigh instead. The lunatic's knuckles are all bruised, the purple skin teared a few places, still soiled with Dan's retaliation, bloody. He can feel the warmth of the hand through the fabric of his pants, his skin burning underneath it.

''Told you,'' Lester lectures, leaning closer, grip tightening. Dan looks into the wide eyes, can feel the warm huffs of air against his lips. He tries to imagine how Lester had looked defending what was his all along, how that glossy mixture of grey and blue had flared with the fire of madness. ''Pride can be taken.''

''Submission can't,'' Dan finishes the quote, earning an unsettling smile from Lester. Dan hopes Kendall will never forget that smile, that it will forever be engraved in the back of his mind, appearing every time he closes his eyes to sleep. Dan can see the man's followers in the corners of his eyes, watching with concealed fear. Most of them are beaten black and blue, eyes swollen and lips split. They will never think of touching him again.

''They're staring.''

''Let's give them something to stare at, then,'' Lester responds and lets go of Dan's thigh, grabbing him by the collar instead, pulling him closer. He captures Dan's lips in a greedy, messy kiss, tongues fighting for the dominance Dan knows now belongs to Lester. The lunatic burrows his teeth in Dan's lower lip, drawing blood.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''Howell, man,'' Liguori exclaims as Dan appears in the entrance to their shared cell, Lester standing with crossed arms behind him. The man had been sitting peacefully in his bed, but their arrival makes him jump up, hands stretched out defensively in front of him; the same way you'd behave while trying to calm down a wild carnivore, ready to attack any moment. There's no bruises across his face. ''Look, I'm sorry.'' He guesses Lester has saved him for last, wanting Dan to watch.

''Do you want me to hurt him?'' Lester asks and places his head on Dan's shoulder, lips grazing the sensitive skin on his neck. ''Make him regret what he did?'' His voice is soft and gentle despite the macabre words, makes Liguori shake his head desperately. Dan enters the cell, begins packing his few belongings. He's transferring to Lester's cell, it's part of the arrangement, part of the submission.

''Please don't,'' Liguori pleads as Lester enters too, cracking his knuckles while smiling. He grabs him by the collar, looks to Dan with a tilted head, prompting him to make a decision. Dan takes place in front of them, crosses his arms over his chest, contemplating. The man had just watched while Kendall stripped him from his pride, had just stood there. ''I had no choice.''

''Let him go,'' Dan responds, Lester frowning as he reluctantly does. Liguori looks relieved for a brief moment, lips parting to express his gratitude. Dan smashes his fist into the man's face before he gets to say anything, feels the bone of his nose crack underneath his knuckles, blood instantly oozing out from his nostrils. Liguori screams in pain, Lester laughs in amusement. ''I'm not your friend,'' Dan mimics as he turns to leave.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''You look like shit,'' Adrian states as Dan enters the visitation area, a small, claustrophobic room scattered with inmates trying to get their weekly dose of reality, to converse with the people they've left behind, the ones that can still prove there's a world behind the prison's fence, that life goes on even if it feels like the earth has stopped rotating. He's allowed one hug upon entering, which he savours deeply as he wraps his sore arms around the fragile shell of his brother, keeps him close until the guards tells him to let go.

''So do you,'' Dan finally responds as they retreat, sitting down on their chairs. Silence briefly dwells between them, Dan taking his time to study every crook of Adrian's face for any changes. Last time he saw him was in court during the trial, which must be months ago now; back then he had still had a full head of hair, but now only a few patches is left across his nearly bald scalp. Even though they're only separated by a small steel table he feels as if they're more than worlds apart right now.

''What the hell happened to you?'' Adrian asks, reaching out to touch the bruises scattered across Dan's face. Dan can see that he's lost weight, the bones in his wrist sticking out, prominent through the nearly transparent skin. He grabs the cold hand, warms it between his own. When they were younger people used to tell them they looked like twins. Not anymore.

''I got jumped.'' Adrian chuckles lightly at the revelation, making the skin where his eyebrows used to be wrinkle, but Dan can still see the guilt flaring in his dull eyes. Dan wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. At night when he lies awake in Lester's bed, the man asleep behind him, plastered possessively to his back, he tries to imagine how his life would've played out hadn't Adrian existed. The image that appears behind his eyelids each time is black; Adrian is the very reason he breathes. ''And you?'' He asks, a dumb question he already knows the answer to; leukemia.

''We're going for the last round of chemo,'' Adrian responds, combing his hand through the remainders of his hair as he leans back in the chair. Chemo won't help, they've tried it before, merely buys them some time before they have to face the inevitable. A stem cell transplant probably would, but those are expensive and Dan had fucked up just a few hundred pounds short.

''Don't say that,'' Dan says, rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration, trying to get the image of Adrian's small body confined in a coffin out of his head. It could be months, even years from now, but not the amount of time Dan's facing. ''You'll be fine, yeah?''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''Look who's back from the dead!'' Padilla exclaims as Dan enters the laundry room, dropping the clothing in his hands to properly greet him. The man throws both his arms around Dan, only letting him go once the pressure on his broken ribs makes him groan. Dan pats his shoulders affectionately, grateful to be back in the comfortable atmosphere Padilla and the damp room offers. Down here he gets a few hours under Lester's radar, safe from his unnerving, never leaving gaze. He's almost grown accustomed to the possessive arm thrown around his shoulders, the weight now missing. ''I've missed you man, been lonely down here,'' Padilla continues and resumes his position at the steel table.

''Never thought I'd be so happy to fold laundry again,'' Dan responds as he takes place on the other side, earning a humoured chuckle from Padilla. He grabs a bundle of clean shirts, begins folding them and stacking them according to size, quickly finding a rhythm. Silence dwells between the pair for a bit, the soft humming of the washing machines and dryers filling the room. Dan can see Padilla smirking coyly in the corners of his eyes, desperate to interrogate. Dan sighs, looking up from the shirt in his hand. ''What is it?''

''So,'' Padilla starts out, resting his elbows on the table. Dan can see him struggle to find the words to his next sentence, careful not to offend him. He tilts his head, prompting him to go on. The rules of the game doesn't apply to Padilla, they can be brutally honest with each other. He needs an authentic acquaintance in here, one that doesn't betray him; otherwise he'd just have to rely on his relationship with Lester, and Dan thinks that's a scary thought. ''You're Lester's bitch now?''

''Please,'' Dan pleads with furrowed eyebrows, throwing the shirt in his hand at Padilla. The man grabs it while laughing, folds it and stacks it. Lester hasn't touched him yet. He just wishes he would get it over with, but knows the man will take his time.

''I don't judge,'' Padilla says, throwing his hands up defensively. ''We all got our way of surviving in here.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''I didn't know,'' Lester says as Dan places his clothes on the bench in the shower room, eyes taking in his naked form. The gaze isn't hungry like Dan had expected, instead laced with a sense of pity and condolence. Dan would be furious if he wasn't so surprised the lunatic is capable of expressing such humane, empathic emotions. He shrugs as he turns his back to him, taking place underneath one of the rusty faucets.  
''It doesn't matter,'' Dan responds as he turns on the faucet, the luke warm water not hot enough to boil away the sensation of filth lingering on his soiled skin. The fingerprints on his hips and the back of his thighs have faded from a dark purple to a soft, transparent blue. He can hear Lester undressing behind him, the sound of nearly careful steps on linoleum tiles approaching him.

''I'm not him,'' He reminds Dan as he takes place behind him, one hand finding rest at the younger's bruised hip, gently yet firmly bringing their naked bodies together. Every muscle in Dan's body tenses up involuntarily, cells burning with caution as Lester's free hand travels down his body, washing away the shame Kendall left like the water pouring down over them. ''I'm not him,'' He repeats, wrapping his hand around Dan's member, lips grazing the sensitive skin on his neck, canine teeth drawing blood.

''You're not him,'' Dan agrees as the man starts pumping him, rough hands moving slow like a sedated heartbeat. He presses his fingertips down hard on Dan's skin, replacing Kendall's fingerprints with his own; one left marks of shameful force, the other leaves marks of humiliating submission. He feels himself harden against Lester's touch, tries to pry off his relentless hands to no avail, skin burning underneath his fingertips. He feels the man harden behind him, press up against his sore entrance but not entering, not claiming him just yet.

''Beg,'' Lester commands against the shell of his ear, voice husky with arousal. The hand resting on Dan's hip finds its way around his throat while the other quickens its movements, both grips tightening as Dan's control flees and his climax approaches him. He becomes a slave to the pleasure those cruel hands offer, goes lax in Lester's merciless embrace. He doesn't recognize the filthy sounds leaving his mouth, the moans of submission echoing off the wet walls.

''Please.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

_''Is something wrong with the food, Phil?'' Dad asks during dinner, eyes locked on the untouched plastic tray in front of his youngest son. They haven't eating anything but ready meals for months, Dad doesn't know how to cook. Phil has trouble deciding what the microwaved, brown sludge in front of him is supposed to be; it looks like dog food. He fixates his gaze on the wall behind Dad. The family portrait has been removed, only the hunting riffle is left. ''Come on, you can tell me.''_

_''He's probably not hungry,'' Martyn defends him, arising from his chair to gather their dishes. Phil grabs the fork in front of him, well aware of what comes next. Dad grabs Martyn by his hair, begins smashing his head repeatedly against the wooden table's hard surface until Phil has eaten every bit of the sludge._

_''I didn't ask you,'' Dad says as he throws Martyn to the floor, blood oozing out from the open wound on his forehead. Phil places his fork back down as Dad resumes eating, cheerfully humming along to some song playing on the radio in the other room. There's no one to hold Phil's hand underneath the table this time._

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

occasionally during nightcount the guards will perform a shake down, turning the inmates' tiny cells upside down in search of weapons, drugs or any other items that could in some way or another be considered contraband. The female guard who usually ransacks Dan and Lester's cell tends to go easy on them, turning a blind eye on the dandelions Lester often plucks him from the cracks in the yard's concrete floor. During this exact nightcount it isn't the female guard who searches the cell, but instead a young, short man with a brown bowl cut and blue eyes. Dan hasn't seen him before, and the name engraved on the plate attached to the front pocket of his uniform doesn't ring any bells.

''What's this, inmate?'' The guard, Hecox, asks as he picks up something from Dan's bed, turning to face him with the item in his hand. Both Dan and Lester are standing outside the cell, hands folded in front of them as the procedure requires them to. ''Contraband?'' Dan turns his face to inspect the item, is immediately filled with confusion at the sight. The item Hecox has classified as contraband is an issue of National Geographic. Dan bought it at commissary last week with the money from his work in laundry. Hecox rolls the magazine together and places it underneath his left arm, grabs a small notebook and pen from his pocket with the right. ''That's a shot.''

''It's a magazine,'' Dan defends himself as Hecox writes him up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tries to explain the misunderstanding. The guy must be newly appointed, trying to set an example and create a certain first impression with the inmates. ''From commissary.''

''Talking back?'' Hecox looks up from his notebook, and Dan knows by the daring smirk dangling on his thin lips that his behaviour isn't because he's new; it's because he's got the authority and power to do so, and Dan can't do a single thing about it. He narrows his eyes as the man scribbles something in the notebook again. ''That's another shot.''

''Are you kidding me?'' He asks in a mocking laugh, unfolding his hands and turning to front the guard, defying the procedure. Lester stares at him with warning eyes, commanding him to resume his position without even opening his mouth. Fronting a guard is very different from fronting a fellow inmate; the guards usually let the inmates sort out their disputes with each other without interference, but crossing the staff members' boundaries will have consequences. Dan raises a daring eyebrow directed at both men, refusing to back down.

''Contraband, backtalking and incorporation,'' Hecox states, taking a step forward, bumping chests with Dan. The pen is pressed so hard into the notebook Dan thinks it might break, ready to write him up a third time. ''You wanna go to the box?'' Dan looks down at him, clenching his fist. One punch, he's sure that's all it takes to wipe that smug smirk of the guard's face.

''Dan,'' Lester warns, voice demanding and cynical, leaving no space for objection. Lester speaks as if he owns the name leaving his lips, as if he owns Dan. The box is another word for solitary confinement. It's there the staff places the untamed animals who refuses to obey and submit. Hecox raises an eyebrow, awaiting his reaction.

''I'm sorry, sir.'' Dan backs down, submitting to both Lester and Hecox. He takes a step back, resumes his position. Lester's gaze softens but is still cautious. He feels like a child getting scolded, a dog being lectured and placed in a muzzle.

''That's what I thought,'' Hecox mocks as he places the notebook and pen back in his pocket again, leaving the cell with Dan's magazine in his hand.''Better listen to your owner.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

''What the hell are you doing?'' Dan asks when the sound of Padilla grinding something against the concrete floor becomes too distracting for him to continue reading the book in his hands. They've already folded and stacked todays laundry, are just lounging around the damp room until lunch eventually starts. Dan has learned from past experiences not to leave his work shift early, and Padilla doesn't mind keeping him company. It's nice when it's just the two of them, sitting in comfortable silence in each their side of the room.

''This, my friend,'' Padilla starts out as he arises from the floor, inspecting the object he's spend the last twenty minutes making before throwing it to Dan. Dan catches the object, places his book on the ground to study it closer. It's a toothbrush with the head broken off and filed to a sharp, fatal point. Talk about contraband. ''Is a shiv.''

''What do you need that for?'' He asks, rubbing the tip of his finger against the sharp point, surprised when it actually manages to draw a tiny drop of blood. Padilla might be the nicest person Dan has ever met, and he can't imagine anyone would ever think of hurting him. He snorts as he arises from the floor, briefly thinks of making one himself just to piss both Hecox and Lester off.

''It's for you,'' Padilla responds, shrugging like it doesn't mean anything. Dan raises his eyebrows, surprised at the bizarre token of friendship. It reminds him of a silly Christmas present Adrian made him when they were younger; a sharpened stick to defend himself against the kids across the street who'd once called them a bunch of gritters. ''I'm getting out in a few months, can't leave your sorry ass unprotected.''

''Wow,'' Is all Dan manages to say, wondering what he did to deserve to cross paths with an individual like Padilla. Despite the selfish sorrow he feels at their upcoming departure he hopes the man will never return, that he will live a long, carefree life filled with happiness and love. He still got a chance at making it on the outside, just hit a minor speed bump. Prison isn't made for people like him, and people like him aren't made for prison. ''As grateful as I am, I have to humbly decline.'' He returns the shiv to Padilla, patting him on the shoulder. ''I'm not street enough for that.''

''I got you,'' Padilla says and bends down to place the shiv in his sock, now hidden by the hem of his pants. ''I'll keep it, just in case you change your mind.''

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''How are you holding up?'' Dan asks as Adrian stops vomiting on the other end, his ragged breathing instead filling Dan's ear. The sound would disturb him if he didn't know it's just a sign that the chemo is working, that the poison Adrian gets pumped into his bloodstream once a week has begun its process of killing the active cancer cells. Dan thinks it's funny like that, how a poison could ultimately become the antidote, how the sound of your brother retching means he's getting better.

''Great,'' Adrian responds, voice dripping with a snarky sarcasm that makes Dan chuckle. They've been through it before; first comes the constant nausea, then his immune system breaks down, then he's good for a few months until he once again relapses, the cancer cells eventually overpowering the chemotherapy. Dan has learned not to get his hopes up too high. He just hopes Adrian spends all the time he can outside, enjoying the sun on his skin before the chemo prohibits him from doing so. ''I've been thinking about something,'' Adrian continues, quickly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps.

''Time is up, inmate,'' Hecox yells loudly as he nears Dan, hands placed comfortably in the pockets of his uniform. He's whistling a carefree tune, that smug smirk plastered across his lips. Dan removes the phone from his ear as Adrian resumes vomiting again on the other end, holds it against his chest instead. Lester who's been standing quietly by his side the whole time places a possessive hand on the back of neck. ''Put the phone down.''

''I just got it,'' Dan says, not even five minutes into the call. He can feel Lester's gaze harden behind him, nails pressing threateningly into his skin, warning him to back down. He feels like a dog kept on a tight leash. Hecox sighs as he pulls the notebook and pen from his pocket. He flicks through the pages and stops once he finds Dan's notes.

''You've got two shots this month,'' The guard says, pressing the tip of the pen against the paper, ready to write up Dan once again. Dan slams the phone back on its stand. Lester's nails scrape against his skin as he removes himself from his grip, drawing blood. He takes a step forward, looks down at Hecox with narrowed eyes. The man just smirks, prompting Dan to go on. ''Wanna make it a third?''

Dan raises his fist, but as he's about to swing Lester grabs Dan by his arm, forcefully pulling him backwards, keeping his back flushed against his chest. ''Let it go,'' He mutters against his ear, pressing his lips to the vein throbbing with anger in his neck. Hecox still stands with the notebook, waiting for his reaction. Three shots means going to the box. He'd get his privileges taken and wouldn't be able to neither call or see Adrian. ''It's not worth it.''

''Better teach your boy some manners, Lester,'' The guard shouts as Lester guides Dan down the hallway, each submissive step echoing mockingly off the concrete walls.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Lester doesn't have many possessions in their tiny cell. The only thing he owns beside a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a towel and a comic book is an old and grainy picture, the edges wrinkly from years of the lunatic caressing it like he does now. Dan is laying in Lester's bed, the man sitting at the bottom of it. They've been seated like this since nightcount about half an hour ago, got around forty minutes before all lights are out. Dan can almost enjoy Lester's company when they're like this.

''You're a brother?'' Dan asks, nodding towards the photograph in Lester's hand. It's of him and an older boy, playfully chasing each other through a backyard. Lester repeatedly slides his fingertips over the boy's face, something he continues doing even as he raises his head to meets Dan's gaze. Dan can never predict what's going on behind those wide, glossy eyes, what thoughts crosses his troubled mind.

''Used to be.'' Dan doesn't know much about Lester apart from his crimes and now this information. Getting to know who Lester was before prison can result in two things; either it'll attribute some humane qualities to his existence or the complete opposite. Dan regrets asking due to the small possibility that the blood on his hands belongs to the boy in that photo. Lester arises from the bed, moves to place the photo back in the steel cabinet mounted to the concrete wall. He closes the cabinet door and turns to face Dan, resting his back against it.

''Do you ever stop being one?'' Lester taps his index finger against his temple, contemplating an answer. Dan can't imagine the bonds of brotherhood ever being severed. Part of his identity will always be labeled as Adrian's big brother, even after Adrian eventually succumbs to the leukemia and leaves him and this world behind.

''I guess not,'' He responds after quietly observing him for a while. Dan can't describe the expression gracing his facial features, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, gaze softening just a bit. Dan thinks he's the most unsettling like this, when he looks at Dan with such fondness instead of lust. It makes the anger rush through his veins, his heartbeat pounding against his chest like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. He wants Lester to be barbarous, forceful, relentless and unsparing. It would make it easier to accept his own submission.

''Did you kill him?'' He asks, desperate to crush that mellow demeanor. Lester's smile just widens at his attempt, but Dan doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker for the tiniest fraction of a second. The man grabs the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and folding it neatly before placing it at the top of the cabinet. Dan studies the scars on his back, wonders how they got there, how they would feel underneath his fingertips.

''What would you think if I did?'' Lester turns to face him again, Dan sitting up as he places a knee on the thin mattress, slowly crawling towards him. Dan already knows what's going to happen, has awaited this very moment for weeks. He places the palm of his hand against Lester's chest as he comes closer, seating himself between Dan's legs, gently spreading them with his thighs. He doesn't want it to be like this; slow, intense, sensual.

''That you're sick.'' He can feel the heart beneath his fingertips skip a single beat, but the wide eyes remain unblinking. With one hand Lester grabs both of Dan's, the other pushing him back down on the mattress. He pins the wrists above Dan's head, spreads his legs further. Dan struggles briefly in his grip, shivers running down his spine as the man in front of him doesn't budge a single inch, the faint outlines of muscles beneath his bared skin not even tensed.

''Maybe Hecox is right,'' Lester contemplates as he leans down to face him, the warm exhales of air leaving his lips landing on Dan's. Dan doesn't break eye contact as Lester grabs the collar of his tank top with his free hand, effortlessly ripping the fabric apart. He slides his fingertips down Dan's exposed stomach, stopping at the hem of his jogging pants. ''I should teach you some manners.''

''I'd like to see you try,'' Dan responds, raising a daring eyebrow. He closes his eyes as Lester captures his lips in a rough kiss; Lester doesn't, that mixture of grey and blue still lingering on Dan as he pushes his tongue past his parted lips, fingers slowly pulling the pants down past his thighs. They break apart for air as the pants are thrown to the concrete floor, Lester's lips instead finding Dan's neck, teeth claiming the sensitive skin as the grip on his wrists tightens. Dan tries to convince himself he merely arches his back out of pain, bites down on his lower lip to prevent any shameful, submissive sound from escaping.

The teeth retreat, a pointy tongue licking away the drops of blood. Lester pulls back for a second, briefly admiring his work before grabbing Dan's boxers, pulling them off in one swift movement. He digs his nails into Dan's skin as he tries to retreat his hands to cover his hard member, merely spreads his legs further apart with his thighs. He pumps Dan a few times, just enough to make him thrust into the warm fist, to make him stop struggling.

''Suck,'' He commands as he releases his wrists, grabbing him by the jaw instead, the husky voice making Dan throb. Lester pushes two fingers past Dan's lips, Dan noticing the man tensing as he slides his tongue against the digits, coating them in a thin layer of saliva. He hollows his cheeks, takes the fingers deeper, teeth grazing knuckles. Lester lets out a breathy sound before retreating his fingers. The fingers find their way between Dan's parted legs, wet fingertips pressing against his entrance, not yet entering. Lester's other hand releases his jaw, grabs him by the throat before he gets a chance to object.

Lester's wide eyes pins him down as he sinks the first finger in, observing him as his brows furrows in a delicate mixture of pain and pleasure at the stretch. He continues to stare at him like that, slowly working him open, taking his time before entering the second finger. Dan doesn't bite down on his lower lip, lets a low moan escape them instead. He sees the way Lester's eyes flickers as he grinds down on the digits inside him, the grip around his throat tightening. He knows what the man waits for.

''Please.'' Like that the fingers retreat, leaving nothing but an emptiness and a slight burn. Lester pushes his jogging pants and boxers down past his thighs, his member slapping against his stomach, hard and thick with arousal. He covers Dan's body with his own, grabs a creamy thigh with his free hand as Dan wraps his legs around him, nails scratching down his scarred back. He pushes his member past the tight entrance, captures Dan's lips once again to muffle out the moans spilling from them, fingers pressing down on his vocal cords.

He doesn't give him any time to adjust, pulls out and slams back in immediately, quickly finding a rough, fast and merciless rhythm. Dan digs his heels into his lower back, prompting him to go faster, take him harder. He needs the burn, needs Lester to wreck him, to take control. Subtle pain is spreading up his spine, but as Lester repeatedly thrusts into a bundle of nerves the immense pleasure overpowers it. The man swallows his moans, the only sound filling the tiny cell being the sound of skin against skin.

Lester releases his lips, retreats his head to take a look at Dan arching his back beneath him, panting. Dan allows himself to get lost in those wide eyes, allows himself to think Lester looks beautiful like this; fringe pushed back, muscles tensed and thin eyebrows knitted together in concentration, pale skin covered with a light sheen of sweat. Lester digs his nails into Dan's thigh, breathy moans leaving parted lips, glossy orbs darkened with lust.

''Who do you belong to?'' He asks, releasing his thigh to place both hands around his throat, grip tightening as he continues to pound into him. Dan feels his abdomen tighten as climax approaches, the lack of air making his cells burn and skin tingle. He sees the desperation in Lester's eyes, thinks it funny how they fit together like that; Dan has spent his whole life always having to be in control, the scars underneath his fingertips telling him control was never an option in Lester's. ''Say it.''

''You.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

The next shake down the guard who usually ransacks their cell returns, once again turning a blind eye to the dandelions scattered on Dan's bed. Lester and him are as the procedure requires standing outside the cell, their hands folded in front of them. Dan's eyes are fixated on the concrete floor beneath his white canvas shoes, Lester's lingering on the dark fingerprints around his neck instead.

The guard clears her throat discreetly, holding the ripped tank top in her hand, an embarrassed blush adorning her cheeks. Anything altered from its original form is considered contraband, an information that makes him tense as if he's forgotten something important; he tries to remember what as the guard puts the torn fabric into a plastic bag, giving them a disapproving look instead of writing them up.

''Hey!'' He exclaims as Padilla appears further down the corridor, escorted by two guards, arms twisted behind his back. Hecox is walking behind him, inspecting an item in a plastic bag while chuckling a bit. Padilla looks up from the ground as he nears Dan, jaw tensed in worry. Dan feels his heartbeat quicken, once again pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal desperate to escape. ''What happened?'' He asks as Padilla passes him, breaking the procedure by following him.

''I was getting out next month,'' Padilla responds, voice broken as he turns his head to face Dan. The brown orbs are usually lit up with joy, but now they're graced by a dullness. Getting in trouble with staff so close to his release date can't be good.

''What?'' Padilla casts him the last sad glance over his shoulder before he's lead down the stairs, guided towards the hallway leading to segregated isolation. Lester grabs him by his arms before he gets to do anything, keeps his back flushed against his chest, nails digging into the skin beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. Hecox stops in front of them, the smug smirk plastered across his thin lips as usual. ''Where the fuck are you taking him?''

''Padilla's going on a nice little vacation to the box,'' Hecox nearly laughs, thick layers of amusement and arrogance coating his voice. He shakes the plastic bag in front of Dan's eyes while chuckling. It's the shiv Padilla made him, the one he'd declined. The prison has a zero tolerance policy regarding weapon behind bars; Padilla could easily serve four more years, and it's all Dan's fault. ''All inclusive.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

_Phil and Martyn finds the little sparrow that always flies around their backyard injured one day, cramped together in a corner of the green garden, one wing tucked close while the other is hanging completely lax by its side. Phil drops to his knees to tend to the bird while Martyn observes from afar. ''What's wrong with it?'' Phil asks, stroking the birds beautiful, brown feathers with careful fingertips. The bird doesn't seem to mind much, too weak to flee from his gentle caress._

_''Its wing is broken,'' Martyn responds disinterested, taking a step further back from the bird. The wound on his forehead has almost healed completely, only a bruise left as evidence of the incident. He hasn't been the same since then, barely spends any time with Phil anymore. ''It's probably going to die soon.''_

_''We have to do something,'' Phil mutters, taking off his jacket and placing the little bird inside of it, cradling it in his arms as he arises from the ground, knees dirty from where he'd been kneeling. ''I'll take care of it,'' He says, brushing past Martyn. The bird begins tweeting as he makes his way towards the house._

_''Free birds shouldn't be kept in cages, Phil,'' Martyn yells from behind him, but the bird's beautiful song drowns out his words._


	3. Power

_''Hands on the wall,'' Dad commands one day after returning home from work, not even looking at his sons before grabbing the cane. He grabs the remote and turns off the television, pointing towards the wall with the tip of the cane. Phil stares into the blank screen in front of him, tries to pretend the cartoon that had been playing before is still running. Martyn arises from the floor to accept the punishment, but Dad still stands with the cane raised even as he places his hands on the wall. ''Both of you.''_

_''What did we do?'' Martyn breaks procedure by turning his head to look at Phil with worried eyes, the first merciless strike of the cane making him resume his position, nails digging into the white wallpaper. He never hurts the both of them, Martyn always takes whatever blame there is to take. Dad makes an impatient hand gesture, motions for Phil to join his brother._

_''It doesn't matter,'' Dad says, patting Phil on the shoulder as he passes him. He takes place beside Martyn, who covers his shivering hand with his own firm one, caressing his jittery fingers with a calm thumb. Phil looks into his eyes as the cane is repeatedly brought down upon their backs, the silent tear sliding down Martyn's cheek bringing him more pain than the cane ever will._

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''I know how we can get him out,'' Lester whispers through the darkness, combing his long fingers through Dan's curly hair, a sweet gesture that has become a tradition during the nights Dan is haunted by his guilt; Padilla has spent nearly two months in the box, and if Dan knows the staff well enough he's not coming out any time soon; if there's one thing they enjoy more than putting criminals behind bars it's punishing those who already are.

''How?'' He asks, letting his head rest in Lester's lap, enjoying the gentle caress. Lester is seated on his bed, Dan sitting between his legs on the concrete floor. Lester plays with a few curly strands before retreating his hands, warm palms instead finding rest at Dan's cheeks. Dan opens his dark eyes, looks up and finds Lester's bright ones through the darkness, shining and gleaming like two beacons.

''I know something about Hecox,'' Lester responds, fingers jitty with excitement against Dan's soft skin. A dark cloud moves from the full moon outside the cell's tiny window, pale rays of light revealing that tight, unsettling smile that Dan has grown to appreciate. He turns his head a bit, lips grazing Lester's fingers, prompting him to go on. ''Something he doesn't want his supreriors to know about.''

''What is it?'' He turns his body to face him, propping himself up on his knees, placing his palms on his thighs. Lester is just in his boxer shorts, his torso and long legs bared. Dan's fingertips dances across the pale skin, muscles tensing underneath his touch. Lester's smile falters, turning into a hungry snark instead, lust clouding over wide eyes. Dan feels an unknown sensation rush through his veins, making his heartbeat quicken. ''Tell me.''

''Maybe I shouldn't,'' Lester contemplates, deep voice coated in a layer of childish playfulness. He spreads his legs a bit, places a firm hand on the back of Dan's neck, burrowing his fingertips in the coarse hair on his nape. Dan bows his head, lips tracing the outline of Lester's member through the fabric.

''Please,'' He whispers though he doesn't feel like he's begging, fingers tucking at the hem of Lester's boxers. Lester lifts his hips a bit, just enough for Dan to pull the boxer shorts down past his thighs, his half hard member swaying in the air. Dan darts his tongue out to lick up the lenght, stopping to swirl it around the head, drawing out a breathy moan from Lester.

''He's a mule.'' Dan feels the guilt of the last two months quiet down, burning out like a dying fire, turning to an unclenchable thirst for revenge instead. Staff moving drugs in and out of prison isn't unheard of, and the law system despises the scum who end up joining forces with the criminals; they got a leverage, one that'll definitely bring back Padilla and make Hecox crumble beneath them. He takes Lester into his mouth, lips tightening around the hard shaft, hollowed cheeks making the man grab a fistful of his hair, hips rocking forward. ''I found out just for you.'' Lester looks down at him with his wide eyes, looks at him as if he's the reason he breathes, as if he would bring the world to his feet if he could. Dan can suddenly define the unknown sensation rushing through his veins; power.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''My favorite criminal!'' Hecox greets Dan as he enters the nearly empty yard, that smug smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as usual, unaware that Lester is looming just behind him. The lunatic has been the one to plan it all, found out when and where Hecox would patrol on his next shift, made sure they'd be alone. The present inmates hadn't minded much when he'd waved them away, simply nodded their heads in respect as games of poker and workout routines were interrupted; one of their own is being retaliated today. The guard reaches for his notebook, unscrews the cap to his pen. ''Want a shot?''

''Takes one to know one,'' Dan responds flatly to the first remark as he crosses his arms, watching Hecox's smirk falter a bit, completely disappearing and turning to a frown once the sound of Lester closing the doors behind them reaches his ears. The guard turns around, twitching slightly as he's met with Lester's unsettling smile a few feet ahead of him. They're standing near the place Dan got assaulted, but this time he doesn't feel weak, this time he feels powerful.

''We found out about your little contraband ring,'' Lester says as he approaches him, and though Hecox tries to shrug it off with an uneasy laugh Dan still sees the tiniest glimpse of fear in his bright eyes. Hecox puts the notebook and pen away, putting his hands up in defeat as he takes a step back and is met with Dan's chest. Lester takes place just in front of them, the small guard now trapped between the tall pair.

''Yeah?'' His voice is shaking slightly, eyes jumping around the place, looking to the closed doors. Lunch starts shortly, the other guards will be busy keeping watch in the dining hall; he could scream for help, but no one would be able to come to his rescue. ''You guys want in?'' He asks, shoulders hunching as he earns a mocking laugh from both men. Dan grabs his arms, twists them behind his back, baring his torso for Lester.

''No,'' Lester says and shakes his head from side to side, fists repeatedly clenching and unclenching. Dan can see the raised veins in his neck, throbbing with the need to hurt, to destroy. He knows the lunatic contains his madness for him, that violence alone won't win this fight; they have to handle this with intelligence, with strategy. Their eyes meet over Hecox's head, Dan's breath hitching in his throat. Lester's bright orbs are clearer than they've ever been, the glossy sheen of mania and derangement nowhere to be seen right now. Dan thinks he's never looked more frightening or beautiful. ''We want Padilla out of the box.''

''Tell me,'' Hecox says, raising his head in a silly attempt of displaying pride. It doesn't matter that Hecox is wearing the uniform of a guard and they're wearing the uniforms of inmates, right now they're all just men in a world where they have to be made of stone and cut from ice. ''Why should I help you with that?'' Lester winks at Dan before looking down at the guard again, striking him across the cheek with a flat palm; not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to remind the man what position he's in.

''You want your boss to know?'' Lester mockingly bends down to level with the man, who groans out in pain as Dan tightens his grip on his arms. Lester's voice is husky and rough, a dangerous sound that makes shivers run down Dan's spine, skin tingling. ''Think us inmates are going to greet you with a warm welcome once you end up in here?'' He asks, the threat making Hecox tense up for a few seconds before going completely lax; they've won. He motions for Dan to release him, grabs him by the collar and shoves him to the ground.

''The lengths you'd go to for him, huh?'' The guard asks as he gets up, dusting the dirt off his khaki uniform pants. He doesn't meet their eyes as he staggers towards the doors, pride gone, head bowed in submission.

''You have no idea,'' Lester responds and places an arm around Dan's shoulders, a possessive gesture that makes him feel everything but weak.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Padilla is released back into general population approximately two weeks after Dan and Lester's altercation with Hecox. Their reunion is quiet, dull eyes meeting guilty ones across stacks of clean laundry, silent apologies and pleads of forgiveness filling the atmosphere in the damp room. Padilla is unrecognizable, the once fit form sunken in from three months of malnourishment, the once tan skin paled severely from the lack of sunshine, brown curls that had previously been styled in a quiff now a mop of untamed, wild hair; Dan sinks a lump in his throat, thinks that this is the raw image of what prison does to people. They fold the laundry in silence.

''Four years down the drain,'' Padilla starts out when the soft humming of the washing machines and dryers no longer fills the void between them. They'd managed to get him out of isolation, but neither Dan, Lester or Hecox has got the power to retreat or dismiss a weapon charge. At best Padilla will have to serve the minimum of four years with credit for good time. The passionate hope that had previously burned in Padilla's eyes has vanished, only the ghost of what once was staring back at Dan.

''I'm sorry,'' Dan mumbles, dropping the shirt in his hand to reach across the table, finding Padilla's. He clenches it hard, eyebrows furrowed, the words and gesture not nearly enough to prove his guilt, to prove that he too has spent the last three months unable to sleep, Padilla never leaving his thoughts. The man rubs his thumb reassuringly against Dan's before retreating. ''It's my fault.''

''It's not.'' Padilla bends down to grab a blue plastic basket underneath the steel table, languid voice baring no traces of resentment. He moves towards one of the dryers, opens it and begins pulling clean, dry clothes out, dropping it into the basket. Dan studies his back, hunched in defeat. ''I would've ended up back here anyways,'' Padilla says, standing still for a few moments before closing the door to the dryer, lost in thought; they haven't talked much about their life outside the prison fence, but Dan knows Padilla too grew up in a world that had destined him to fail from the beginning. The man grabs the basket and returns to the steel table, pointing towards the concrete walls. ''I got nothing out there.''

Dan walks around the table, takes place beside the shorter man, capturing his head between two firm yet gentle hands. ''In here you got me.'' He forces him to look at him, hopes his adamant gesture, determined eyes and loving words makes the man realize he's got a brother in Dan.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''You should keep away from Padilla from now on,'' Lester's voice says from above Dan, stirring him awake from his peaceful slumber. He opens his eyes, still foggy with sleep, and is immediately met with the sight of Lester's pale face, staring down at him with determination. There's heavy bags underneath his eyes, as if he's been awake the whole night, planning the remark. He's got a hand planted firmly on each side of Dan's face, the weight of his lower body pinning him to the thin mattress.

''What?'' Dan yawns, rubbing a palm against his tired eyes, hearing the words but not understanding them. He searches the mixture of grey and blue for jealousy but struggles to find any; the astonishing orbs glister with a fierce cautiousness instead, like the worried gaze of a protective brother. ''He just got out.'' Dan blinks a few times before propping himself up on his elbows.

''I don't like him,'' Lester responds, hands pushing against Dan's shoulders, forcing him back down. Dan narrows his eyes, observes the way Lester's lower lip is tucked downwards in a frown, eyebrows furrowed as if he knows something Dan doesn't. The man pushes a leg between Dan's, thigh pressing into Dan's groin, the pressure making him arch his back a bit. They're both clad in nothing but boxers, a tingling sensation spreading the places Dan's bared skin meets Lester's. ''He's bad.''

''So that's how it is?'' Dan asks, bringing Lester's head down with a firm hand on the back of his neck, capturing his lips in a rough kiss, teeth clashing together, tongues fighting in a merciless combat of domination and submission, a game in which Dan has come to realize there's no winner or loser. They break apart for air, a thin string of saliva connecting them. Dan grabs Lester by his black locks of silky hair, flips them around so he's on top, straddling his thighs, grinding down on the hardening member. ''You get to decide that?''

''Yes,'' He breathes out, nails digging into the soft skin on Dan's hips, rolling his hips to meet his hypnotic movements, free hand grabbing a plump ass cheek. Their lips meet again, the kiss softer, slower, gentler this time. Lester captures Dan's lower lip between his teeth, the sweet abuse making Dan let out a breathy moan.

''No,'' Dan responds, lifting his hips as Lester pushes down his boxer shorts, wiggling out of his own afterwards, both pair thrown to the ground. He brings their bodies back together, one hand resting on the back of Lester's neck, the other sliding down his scarred back, muscles twitching beneath his fingertips. Lester leaves a trail of soft kisses down Dan's jaw, throat, collarbone, chest. His tongue swirls around a hardening nipple, teeth grazing it lightly.

Dan pushes him down onto the thin mattress when the cruel caress becomes too much, palm resting above a heart beating fast with lust. He coats two of his own fingers in a thick layer of saliva, hastily works himself open while Lester watches with wide eyes. He studies the man as he sinks down on his hard member, the pleasure of watching his eyebrows furrow in euphoria overpowering the burning pain spreading up his back. He allows himself to adjust for a brief moment before finding a messy, erratic rhythm.

Lester grabs a thick thigh with a rough hand, repeatedly raises and lowers his hips in order to meet Dan's movement, bodies working together in cohesion, the sound of skin clashing together quickly filling the small cell. The sun is slowly rising outside the tiny window, pale rays of subtle warmth dancing across their bodies. Lester slides his free hand up Dan's torso, wraps it around his throat once again.

''Who are you?'' Lester nearly growls, grip tightening. Dan stills his movements, allows him to fuck up into him, the head of his member repeatedly brushing against the bundle of nerves that makes his abdomen tighten, makes him see stars. Each thrust draws out another vulgar sound from him, sounds he no longer finds shameful, not when he sees how they affect the man beneath him; Lester looks wrecked, a fine sheen of sweat covering his pale body, quiff slicked back and muscles tensed, wide eyes filled with a desperation to hear those submissive words, words that makes Dan feel everything but.

''Yours.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''I've decided to stop chemo.'' The words cut through the air like a sharpened butcher knife, echoing off the walls in the noisy hallway. The statement is replaying inside Dan's head, making his ears ring as if a bomb has just been dropped beside him. He clutches the phone in his hand, knuckles turning white at the effort. Lester is standing further down the line to the phone though he has no family to call, always keeping a close eye on Dan.

''No,'' He responds, voice rough and leaving no space for objection. Stopping chemo will allow the cancerous cells to replicate at a speed too quick for Adrian's weakened immune system to fight them, which eventually will result in his vital organs shutting down. It'll at least cut his time in half, time neither of them got anyway. Adrian sighs tiredly on the other end, and Dan wonders just when he lost the will to live, wonders if it was before or after he got incarcerated.

''I don't know how much time I got left,'' Adrian confesses, and Dan imagines him running a skinny hand across a scalp that must be completely bald now, the way he always does when he's frustrated. He doesn't hear what Adrian is saying, the words sounding like gibberish to his ears, the sound of his heart beating fast with panic drowning them out. ''Don't want to spend it sicker than I already am.''

''Absolutely not!'' He yells, his voice sounding like a deranged scream from an animal in deep pain. The loud words make the banter surrounding him quiet down, all eyes suddenly on him. He sees Lester step out from the line from the corners of his eyes, head tilted in confusion, ready to approach. He clutches the phone so hard he thinks it might break in his hands.

''I'm sorry,'' Adrian says with his languid voice, and somewhere beneath the hurt and fear Dan realizes they've both lived the last couple of years on behalf of each other instead of themselves. He feels his throat close up as silence briefly dwells between the two, the air once again thick with words that'll never be spoken, memories that'll never be relived and eternal vows of faithfulness that'll never be fulfilled. ''I'll visit soon, yeah?''

''Get your boy under control or he's going to the box, Lester!'' The guard keeping watch further down the hallway yells when Dan begins smashing the phone repeatedly against the wall, the plastic handset cracking into a thousand pieces. Dan continues until he feels one of Lester's protective arms wrap around his waist, until the phone is shattered like his heart. Lester hauls him backwards, kissing away the salty tears streaming down his face, covering his mouth with his free hand to prevent the muffled screams from leaving his lips.

''Shh,'' He whispers against the shell of his ear as he drags him down the hallway, towards the staircase to the cell corridor. ''I'll take care of you.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''Did you kill him?'' Dan asks the next time Lester is sitting with the grainy photograph between his fingers, unsettingly caressing it while studying it with cloudy eyes that lives in the past. Dan knows this because he's been too lately. Lester doesn't respond, but Dan catches the way his eyebrows furrows in discomfort briefly. They're sitting in each their bed, memories of a brother there's no longer here and a brother there'll soon suffer the same fate replaying in their minds. ''Did you?'' He repeats, firm voice demanding an answer he already knows.

''Yes,'' Lester responds, arising from the bed to place the photo back in the steel cabinet. He then takes place in front of the small window, observing the beautiful sundown with crossed arms. Dan feels his abdomen tighten in disgust, not with the man but with himself; brotherhood has always been the single must important thing in his life, and here he is, letting another man fuck him, care for him, love him despite knowing his crimes.

''Why?'' Dan doesn't know whether he's asking the man why he chose Dan, why he killed his brother, or why the universe has decided to take Adrian from him. Lester turns his face to look at him with the glossy eyes of a child that never got the chance to grow up, the glossy eyes of a man that isn't truly alive.

''It was my gift to him,'' Lester says, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Death has always been a punishment in Dan's life, a curse taking away his beloved ones and leaving him as a broken man. Death has always been a blessing in Lester's life, a sanction to free his loved ones from the pain this cruel world offers. Despite the hatred and sorrow rushing through his veins, Dan doesn't flee when Lester moves to stand before him, when he bends down and grabs one of his hands, placing them on his cheek, seeking comfort. ''He needed peace.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Dan decides to refrain from calling Adrian for a while, doesn't know whether he's punishing his brother or himself. He thinks it makes it easier to pretend that Adrian isn't going to die this way, that everything is fine. He'd almost been thrown to the box for destroying the phone's handset, but Lester must have pulled a few strings with staff; maybe they think letting Dan off easy will be the best for both parts, not in fear of what might happen when he's with Lester, but what might happen when he's not.

He decides to spend the gap of time after lunch in the yard instead, quietly watching Lester work out from afar, seated on the concrete ground, back resting comfortably against the prison fence, an unopened bag of candy from commissary resting in his lap. There's a mild breeze playing with his curls from time to time, gentle rays of sunshine dancing across his skin. Lester is standing across the yard, lifting a barbell in each hand, biceps bulging slightly at the effort. He's discarded of his sweatshirt and tank top, a few beads of sweat running down his chest, getting tangled in the soft patches of brown hair there. Some of the other inmates are studying him too, but then their eyes lock and Dan knows he doesn't have to feel jealous by the fond smile Lester offers him.

Dan opens the bag of candy and puts a stale gummy bear into his mouth, the artificial, sugary flavor immediately invading his taste buds. On the outside he'd thrown it out, but in here it's as good as it's going to get, a delicacy really. He briefly wonders how his life would be with Lester outside the prison, if they would have ever met hadn't their life of crime led them together. He wonders what clothes Lester would wear, can't help but chuckle to himself as he imagines the lunatic clad in bright t-shirts with childish prints.

''Does his eyes ever leave you?'' Padilla asks as he approaches Dan, lazily dragging the soles of his white canvas shoes across the concrete. Dan lifts his head and expects to be met with a coy smirk, only to stare up at a languid face with dull eyes. Padilla looks old, lines of worry and misery engraved in a face that used to be beautiful. Dan pats the space next to him, offers him the candy as he sits down.

''I don't think so,'' He says, watching Lester's smile turn into a disapproving frown from the corners of his eyes. He turns his head and sends a raised eyebrow his way, tries to figure out what Lester's deal with Padilla is. The lunatic simply shakes his head as he places the barbells in his hands on the ground, turning his back to Dan as he wipes the sweat from his body with his tank top, the raised scars on his back staring back at him.

The atmosphere grows stiff as Hecox appears in the doorway further down the yard, disturbing the peace that had previously roamed the area. Both Dan and Padilla arises from the ground as Hecox makes his way toward them, smug smirk already back on his lips. Dan narrows his eyes, stares him down.

''Howell, Padilla,'' The guard greets as he reaches them, a hand reaching into the pocket in the front of his uniform. Instead of the notebook Hecox pulls forward a small plastic bag containing a solid, black substance; they'd agreed for Hecox to get Padilla out of the box, but they hadn't mentioned his distribution of black tar heroin. Dan regrets that now. Padilla got out of the box just to be stuck in another, and once again Dan feels it all his fault. Padilla takes the bag, hides it in the waistband of his boxers as Hecox walks past them, daringly raising his eyebrow at Dan before disappearing.

''Just something to take the edge off,'' Padilla explains as he sits down again, avoiding Dan's worried and thoughtful gaze. Dan looks down at his bared arms, wonders how he hasn't noticed the track marks scattered across them before now. He looks to Lester, who's now leaned against the fence across from them, arms crossed while a knowing look grazes his facial features.

''We all got our way of surviving in here,'' He responds, mimicking Padilla's statement from the time Dan too was broken down and had sought protection under Lester's wings. His beloved friend hadn't judged him back then, and Dan chooses not to judge him now, just until he figures out how to deal with Hecox.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

_''Martyn?'' Phil asks as he enters the dining room, having just returned from a walk before dinner. Martyn is seated at the table with his back to him, the sound of his sniffles echoing off the walls. The riffle has been removed from its usual place on the wall, and as Phil moves from the door frame and approaches his brother he sees why. Dad is seated at the table too, his head buried in a ready meal, blood oozing out from the bullet wound in his forehead. ''What have you done?''_

_''I couldn't take it anymore.'' Martyn turns to face him. His face is wet from tears, but he's not crying anymore. He's got the rifle in his hand, the barrel of it resting beneath his chin, a jittery finger hovering above the trigger. ''I can't do it, Phil,'' He exclaims in a pleading sigh, handing the rifle to him. Phil accepts it with shaking hands, looks into begging, dull eyes. Martyn has never asked anything of him. ''Please.''_

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Adrian comes to visit a few weeks after their last phone call, just like he promised. They're seated on each their side of the small steel table, the banter of the other visitors and inmates filling in the silence between them. Adrian has lost more weight, his pale, transparent skin covered in a sick, yellow sheen; his liver and kidneys quitting on him, both the chemo and cancer too hard on his vital organs. They've won their previous battles with leukemia, but this time it's too strong and Adrian is too weak.

''How long?'' Dan asks when the question has been on replay in his mind for nearly twenty minutes, unsure whether he wants to know the answer or not. Adrian is living on borrowed time, and Dan has already wasted weeks trying to deny the inevitable. He knows death will eventually come for everyone, he just thinks it shouldn't happen like this. Adrian clears his throat, folds his hands in his lap.

''Anything between a month and half a year,'' He says, voice calm. Dan doesn't get how the little shit can be so relaxed about dying, not when everything inside himself is twisting and turning with hysteria and fright. The answer does nothing to calm him, only fills him with anger; at the universe, at Adrian, but most of all at himself. They wouldn't be sitting here, having this conversation if it wasn't for him. ''It's unpredictable, you know.''

''You sure about the chemo?'' He asks, promising himself this will be his last try, hoping with every fiber of his being that Adrian says no. Dan doesn't want to give up, thinks that agreeing to stopping the chemotherapy would equal surrendering to the cancer, would equal killing Adrian; he wonders if this is how Lester must have felt, torn between the altruistic and egoistic side of the bond of brotherhood. He takes a deep breath, leans back in his chair.

''Yeah,'' Adrian says, leaning forward, reaching for Dan's hand. Dan accepts, rubs a soothing thumb over brittle fingernails and prominent bones. He nods slowly, more to himself than to his brother. Adrian has been strong for Dan since he was ten and there was nothing else to be; he's twenty now, living in yesterday with no promise of tomorrow. Leukemia is a rigged game fate never planned for them to win, and Adrian is at the end of the line. ''I just want peace.''

''Okay.'' He looks at his brother, knows the person in front of him is just a mere shell of what once was, knows his death bears greater value than life. He just wants to be there when it happens, doesn't want Adrian to be alone. ''I'll request an escorted furlough.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''Don't look,'' Lester says when Dan appears at the bottom of the basement's stairs, the man's tall frame blocking the small entrance to the laundry room, prohibiting Dan from entering. Dan raises a questioning eyebrow and takes a step forward, unable to read the variety of emotions flickering violently across Lester's face; eyebrows furrowed with a mighty empathy, nostrils flaring with a fierce anger. He never bothers Dan during his work shift, knows this area is a sacred space reserved just for him and Padilla, but the man had suddenly got up and stormed off during breakfast. Now Dan thinks about it he doesn't remember seeing Padilla there.

''You have to move,'' He states, Lester's strange demeanor making him uneasy, throat closing up in caution. There's a few places where Lester's skinny, lanky frame doesn't cover the entrance entirely, leaving gaps for Dan to see through; he can only see the lower portion of a shorter, limp body, leaned against a leg of the steel table in an unatural position. ''Move,'' He repeats, voice louder and firmer this time.

''You should leave, Dan.'' An almost pained expression is adorning Lester's face as he stands still, refusing to budge an inch.

''Now!'' Dan yells, hands shoving at his chest, just hard enough to make him stagger a single step backwards, leaving enough room for him to see the rest of the body. Padilla's lax arms are hanging down by his side, sweatshirt rolled up, a piece of fabric wrapped tightly around his bicep. The needle of a syringe smuggled from the prison's infirmary is still stuck in a vein, a burnt match and a small piece of tinfoil with the remainders of the tar heroin placed on the ground next to him. The brown eyes that used to hold such warmth are wide open, parted lips coated in a white layer of dried foam.

Lester slaps a hand across Dan's mouth before the deranged sounds of agony gets to leave his mouth, free arm sneaking around his waist in a tight grip, preventing him from running to the lifeless body. Dan feels something break inside of him, like an already cracked mirror receiving the last hit before collapsing completely, only the sharp shards of dangerous glass left; He was still planning how to deal with Hecox, the ticking clock of life and fate's cruel games once again catching up with him.

''I told you he was bad,'' Lester whispers against the shell of his ear, hauling him backwards, up the stairs. He retreats the hand covering Dan's mouth once he's sure he won't scream anymore, warm palm instead frantically petting a wet cheek instead, wiping away tears. ''I told you.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''You need to eat,'' Lester says, the words a delicate mixture of both begging and commanding. The whole prison has been shut down on lockdown for nearly a week now, staff investigating the circumstances surrounding Padilla's death; not to bring him justice, but to shut down the contraband ring. Dan isn't dumb, knows Hecox won't get caught, not in this wicked game where the guards are doomed to be saints and the criminals to be sinners.

''Not hungry,'' He whispers, pulling the thin blanket further up over his head. The sun is shining down upon him through the small window of their cell, yet his entire body is wrapped in a layer of coldness. They're locked in their cells all twenty-four hours of the day, staff denying them their privileges except the three mandatory meals a day and a shower now and then. Dan doesn't care, feels more dead than alive, the only thing separating the two terms being the thought of Adrian and his request for an escorted furlough.

''You need to stay strong for your brothers,'' Lester continues while pointing towards the untouched trays of food in front of Dan's bed, the plural inflection of the word making him turn his head towards him. Lester looks at him with wide eyes that are both grieving for him and promising him retaliation at the same time. ''We'll deal with Hecox later.''

''Brothers?'' He asks in confusion, his languid voice rough around the edges. It's the first time they speak in days, the never leaving lump in his throat having prohibited him from doing so until now. Lester arises from his own bed, kneels in front of Dan like a knight kneeling in front of his king. He places a warm palm on each side of Dan's face, thumbs soothingly rubbing the smooth skin, fingertips leaving traces of warmth. Lester leans closer, gently places his lips on Dan's forehead, the kiss too soft and tender to ascend from a lover.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

They spend two weeks on lockdown before staff eventually decide to close the investigation, marking an unfortunate criminal as their scapegoat upon finding a stash of heroin hidden somewhere in his cell; they don't question how they missed it during their daily raids, the thought of one of their own planting it there never considered an option. They bury the evidence and doom the scapegoat to rot in the box for another man's crime, desperate to reestablish the tight structure that had previously adorned the prison.

Dan and Lester waits until things have quieted down, until Dan's sorrow has turned to an insufferable, unquenchable thirst for vengeance and justice. It only takes a few days for the daily grind of prison to thin out the heavy atmosphere lingering among the inmates, the memory of Padilla's death quickly forgotten by everyone but the two. They use the time to plan their retaliation carefully, going over each little detail until their agenda is bulletproof, Hecox's fate vicious enough to do Padilla justice and sparing enough to not interfere with Dan's furlough request. He thinks they've finally found a loophole in life's rigged game.

They carry out their plan about half an hour before nightcount, knowing Hecox will have to make his way past their location on his quest to make sure all rooms of the prison are empty. They're in the laundry room, Dan standing underneath the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, covering him in a yellow, dim sheen. Lester is pressed to the wall near the entrance in order to be out of sight once Hecox arrives, ready to ambush him. The dryers and washing machines are shut off and quiet, making the once comfortable atmosphere of the room seem intense and dangerous. Their eyes lock across the room, that tight smile of calculated madness dancing across Lester's lips. Dan smiles back.

''What are you doing down here, Inmate?'' Hecox asks once he appears in the entrance, oblivious to the danger lurking just around the corner. Dan rests his lower back against the steel table, calmly crosses his arms across his chest, looking at the guard with piercing, thoughtful eyes. He feels the adrenaline rush through his veins but stands still, burrowing his anger deep inside his mind where it wont effect his discernment, denying himself precipitate domination in order to receive deliberated power. ''You want to go to the box?'' Hecox dares, hand reaching for his notebook. Dan chuckles shortly, the impertinent sound prompting the guard to take a step forward and completely enter the room, only to be met with a hard blow to his sternum, relentlessly executed by Lester's brutal fist.

''You killed him,'' Dan calmly states as the shorter man involuntarily bends over in pain, groaning. Lester grabs him by his collar and throws him to the ground, harshly burrowing the tip of his shoe in his stomach a few times, careful not to leave any visible marks of assault. Though Hecox hadn't been the one to shoot up Padilla Dan still holds him accountable, knowing that Padilla would still be alive if it hadn't been for his little contraband ring, that Padilla would still be alive if Dan had taken care of Hecox a long time ago.

''Wanna kill me, Howell?'' He groans out as he tries to sit up, a shaking hand clutching at his stomach. Despite not having touched him yet Hecox still looks at Dan with fear and panic, paying no attention to Lester, knowing the lunatic's actions is merely a tribute, a gift fueled by the power his lover has over him. ''Retaliate the little druggie?'' He continues, the derogatory and jeering words making Dan take a step forward, uncrossing his arms. He studies the man for a brief moment before burrowing his shoe in the man's groin, making him cry out in pain. ''This is not going to look good on your furlough request.''

''Here's what's going to happen,'' Lester takes over, hauling him up by his hair, smashing him against the wall with a firm hand on his throat. Dan takes place beside them, grabbing Hecox's arm to roll up the sleeve of his uniform. He rips off a piece of fabric from the bottom of his own tank top, wraps it around his bicep in order to make the veins more visible. ''Heroin will stay in your system for about two days,'' Lester says and reaches for something in the waistband of his jogging pants with his free hand, pulling forward a small ball of tinfoil and a single match. Dan bends down and pulls an unused syringe from the hem of his sock, replacing Lester's hand around Hecox's throat with his own when the man retreats to strike the match against the concrete wall, minds connected to the point where they're able to communicate without ever using words. ''Just long enough for you to fail the staff's weekly drug test.'' Lester unfolds the tinfoil and holds the burning match underneath it, melting the clump of tar heroin, the substance quickly turning to liquid.

''You'll get fired, but that's a small price to pay for murder, isn't it?'' Dan asks, handing the syringe to Lester who quickly fills it up, throwing the tinfoil and match to the ground. Dan can feel Hecox sink a lump in his throat beneath his fingers, the fear in his eyes quieting down as he accepts his punishment, accepts his fate. Lester grabs his arm, pushes the needle into a pulsing vein, shooting the heroin into his bloodstream. Dan feels nothing but power as he goes lax in his grip, the drugs reaching his heart, filling him with the bittersweet euphoria. He wonders how Padilla had felt, if he'd been scared, if it had hurt.

''Why the mercy?'' Hecox mutters as they release him, letting him slide down the wall and thud to the floor, the heavy dose making him lose control of his body. He looks up at Dan with cloudy eyes, shimmering with confusion and a gratitude that makes his insides twist and turn, makes his eyebrows furrow in disgust. He takes a step back, the words making him second guess their plan, makes him want to put his hands back on the man's throat, watch the life leave his body as he strangles him.

''Mercy?'' Lester huffs, catching Dan's eyes, the pained expression adorning the beautiful mixture of grey and blue reminding him that death is mercy, the blood of a brother soiling his lover's hands reminding him that life is punishment. Lester bends down, pulling Hecox's head up by his hair, slapping him a few times on the cheek to get his attention. ''You'll have to live the rest of your life knowing it's your fault he couldn't.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''I love you,'' Adrian states on the other end of the phone in Dan's hands, the raw, honest words making every cell in his body crumble in sorrow despite being said in such a dull tone of voice. He rests his arm against the wall in front of him, rubs a warm palm against his forehead in a frustrated attempt to redirect his attention from the pain tugging on his abused heartstrings. The beeping of a heart monitor fills in a few moments of silence, the inconsistent and slow sound of Adrian's heartbeat waiting for Dan to get his furlough request approved before quieting down forever.

''I love you too,'' He manages to croak out, the lump in his throat making the words sound deranged and shrill. A single tear of what once was and what will soon be gone slides down his cheek, landing on his grey sweatshirt and creating a wet mark. The grief inside him mixes with his undying love for Adrian, the kind reserved only for brothers. Their life is a battlefield and Dan's heart has been blown to atoms, the only thing keeping him standing upright being Adrian's impervious, pure affection. ''I'll come soon, yeah?''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

They watch Hecox walk across the yard with a few belongings in a small box from the small window in their cell, stripped of the power his khaki uniform had granted him and now wearing civil clothes. The former guard is walking with a lowered head as he's leaving the prison through the big steel gate for the last time, the defeated posture filling Dan with a feeling of justice and strength; before Hecox completely disappears out of frame, Dan prays with his whole heart the man will never forget the time he didn't kill him but had the power to do so.

''You did it for me,'' He whispers when he turns his head and is met with Lester's soft lips, capturing his own in a kiss so light it makes shivers run down his spine. Lester sneaks a hand underneath Dan's sweatshirt, gentle goosebumps awakening underneath his tingling fingertips, skin burning the places he's touching. Dan turns around completely, one hand pulling Lester closer by the waistband of his jogging pants, the other finding rest at the man's nape, bringing their lips back together, the tongues usually fighting for dominance now dancing an elegant, slow waltz with each other instead.

''I'd do everything for you,'' Lester declares as they pull apart for air, the pupils of his wide eyes dilated with the intense lust and hunger of a lover, astonishing orbs of grey and blue glistening with the endless affection and loyalty of a brother. Lester takes his hand, leads him to his bed, bodies intertwining on the thin mattress as they lie down. Lester undresses himself with hasty hands and Dan with careful ones, as if the body beneath him is a divine, fragile creation sent from above.

''Everything?'' Dan asks in a breathless moan as Lester lifts one of his thighs, a wet tongue tenderly exploring the soft skin there, sharp teeth sliding over the place where his leg meets his pelvic in response to the question. The lips travels further up his body, tasting and devouring him. Dan burrows his fingers in Lester's raven locks, gently tugging on them when the soft caress becomes too much, mouth searching for Lester's like a deprived animal searching for nourishment. He spreads his legs for him, wraps them around his hips as he enters him without preparation, giving him the burning sensation he needs, craves. He tilts his head backwards, nails digging into Lester's thick scars in a desperate attempt to cover them with new ones made of painful love and passion.

Their bodies melts together as if they were made for one another, hands roaming each other's bodies as if this is the last time they're ever going to. Lester's thrust are slow and sloppy, the unhurried pace making Dan curse out and beg, these being the only of Dan's command Lester will never follow. Their eyes are open, closely observing each other fall apart at the power of the sweet euphoria they in cohesion create.

''You're the reason my heart beats,'' Lester whispers, hand briefly resting over Dan's own, beating fast like the fluttering wings of a caged bird desperate to escape. Dan digs his heels into the man's lower back, arches his own as the merciless hand finds his throat, resting where it belongs. ''The reason I breathe,'' He continues, grip tightening just enough for Dan to see stars when he closes his eyes. ''Who are you?''

''Yours.'' They come together, climax washing over them, the bliss blocking out the screams of misery within their minds, leaving nothing but silence as they ride out their high together. Dan feels something wet land on his face, and when he opens his eyes again he realizes Lester is crying, the tight smile yet still claiming his lips. He lifts his head, kisses away the stream of salty tears, the sweet taste of a broken man dancing across his taste buds. ''Only yours.''

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

Dan receives an answer to his furlough request on a cold day. He's in the yard, the wind still with tension, dark, grey clouds threatening to release a relentless downpour at any minute. He's standing with his back against the prison fence, enjoying the cold wind against his skin. Lester's playing a game of poker with some of the other inmates nearby, casting a warm glance over at Dan now and then, offering him a small smile whenever their eyes lock.

''Howell,'' The female guard who usually ransack their cell calls out as she enters the area, holding a tiny stack of paper in her hands. Dan turns his head towards her, stands upright as she with slow steps approaches him, an empathic expression grazing her facial features. Dan feels his stomach drop, heart sink. The guard stops a foot in front of him, looks lost in thought for a brief moment before handing him the papers, unsure of how to handle the situation. ''Your furlough request got denied.''

''Why?'' He asks with a calm voice despite the chaos inside of him, wanting a warm voice rather than some cold, impersonal letters on a piece of paper to inform him of what he already knows; he'd known it when he woke up this morning, had felt as if a tiny piece of his heart had gone missing only to never return. The guard rubs a palm across her forehead, a quiet, short sigh escaping her lips.

''The person you requested to visit has passed away,'' She says, placing her hands in the pockets of her uniform as she takes a step back. He feels the dangerous shards of glass Padilla's death had left crumble within him, turning to dust and dissolving, disappearing with the wind like the ash of a burned out fire, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness that'll never be filled. Dan nods slowly, a few heavy drops of rain landing on the papers in his hand. ''I'm sorry,'' The guard offers her condolences before she leaves.

''So am I,'' Dan whispers long after she's gone, the rain now pouring down upon him, dissolving the papers. He crumbles them in his hand and throws them to the ground, takes a deep breath as he turns to look at Lester. The game of poker has been interrupted by the merciless rain, but Lester is still sitting at a small steel table bolted to the concrete ground, smiling at Dan, wide eyes glistening with a knowing sadness. Dan smiles back, knowing this is his punishment and Adrian's reward in life's rigged game.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

''You'd do everything?'' He asks, letting Lester comb a soothing hand through his curly locks, leaning back into the gentle caress. They're in their cell, watching the sun go down outside the tiny window, its last rays lighting up the cramped room in a golden, almost divine way. Lester is sitting on the bottom of his bed, Dan on the ground between his long legs.

''Everything,'' Lester responds, lowering his head to place a gentle kiss on Dan's forehead, warm hands finding rest on his wet cheeks; he has stopped crying, has no more tears to spill, the chaos within him quieted down and gone numb. He leans his head backwards, captures Lester's lips in a soft, short kiss. When they retreat he grabs his hands, slowly guides them toward his throat.

''Please,'' He begs in a frail whisper, the words making Lester's lips curl in a pained expression, eyebrows knitted together as he slowly nods, more to himself than to Dan. Dan kisses him one last time as his grips tightens, offering him a small, broken smile in gratitude of the gift he's about to receive. Lester's fingers presses down hard on his windpipe, instantly cutting off his air supply.

''Who am I?'' He asks, warm tear drops landing on Dan's face. Dan feels his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, looks up into the beautiful mixture of grey and blue Lester's eyes consists of.

''Mine,'' He manages to croak out as the world around him gradually starts blurring and spinning, the last thought on his mind before the life seeps out of him being that those orbs bears great resemblance to a sky, one where free birds can spread their wings and fly.

 

 

**-x-x-x-**

 

 

_''Go,'' Phil says as he opens the cage he's kept the little sparrow in for quite some time now, even though its broken wing healed a long time ago. He's in his backyard, the sound of nearby police sirens in the air. The bird tweets a few times before flying out of the cage, landing on Phil's scrawny shoulder as if to thank him for taking care of it all this time. ''You're free now,'' He says, running his fingers across its beautiful feathers one last time before it spreads it wings to fly towards freedom. ''Free birds shouldn't be kept in cages.''_


End file.
